Midsummer Nights Dream
by PADavis
Summary: A dryad, a thunderstorm, and a tree separate the boys.  Sam and Bobby have to go looking.  Squirrels, dogs, and Bambi.  Rated T for language.
1. Nosing Around the Tree

First appeared in Blood Brothers 4, Golden Lily Press. My thanks as always to Jeanne Gold, who's deft editing always makes me try to be a better writer. Also thanks to Mad Server who carped and complained and pointed and made this a better story.

_A/N: My friend Sensue and I will be at the Vancouver SPN convention August 25 – 28__th__, 2011. We are hoping to host an old fashioned convention room party for fan fic readers and writers. Please PM me if you are interested or know someone who might be. Thanks!_

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><p>"Rocky, you're dropping," he took a shallow breath, "crap on me again." His voice was rough. "What did I tell you?" Breath. "Two words." Breath. Blinking bark out of his eyes, he scowled upward. "Brunswick stew."<p>

His phone rang, muffled notes reaching his ears after working through the fabric of his jeans and a couple of cubic feet of tree. He tried again to work his hand to it, but only managed to bring on muscle spasms in his biceps and fingers.

Sweat dripped into his ears, soaked through his t-shirt, pooled under his back. New York State in July was a freakin' sauna. Squinting at the sun's position through layered branches, he figured he'd been trapped about six hours.

All he needed was for his brother to wake up from his trip to Never Never Land so he and Bobby could come get him. And bring him some water. He really needed some water. And an aspirin. Maybe a Vicodin. Something he could take with a lot of water. And he was sure he could feel a bottle in the duffel trapped underneath his shoulder, but he couldn't twist enough to reach it.

Finish the hunt and get trapped under an oak tree. Sam was gonna bitch and lecture and laugh himself stupid, and Dean was fine with that if Sam would just get the goddamn vegetation off him so Dean could drink some water.

The squirrel chattered and dropped more bark on his face. "Yeah, yeah. Right back at you, you little shit." Shallow breaths. "When Sammy gets me loose, I'm going to…blow your fuzzy ass to kingdom come."

If only he could take one good breath. It wouldn't feel so much like he was suffocating. But he was, little by little, the tree was gradually crushing him to pulp. And thinking like that made his skin prickle and his stomach burn, and he was panicking again and panting and the tree…

"Sam!"

* * *

><p>Sam blinked awake, and wasn't quite sure where he was. Lifting his head to inspect his surroundings, he found himself in a motel room. Not that surprising. After all, he'd been in thousands of them, but nothing about this one looked familiar. Groaning, he sat up and stretched his arms over his head, working his back and shoulders. A flyer on the nightstand confirmed he was somewhere in upstate New York.<p>

Oh. Linden trees. The nursery. That's why they were there. But why didn't he remember checking in to the motel? He set the flyer down, and picked up a note tucked under his cell phone: '_Back in a few hours. D.'_ Dean must have gone off to research something or interview someone because there was no way Dean would be stupid enough to hunt…whatever it was they were hunting by himself.

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Dean was stupid enough to do that. But Sam had made his increasingly reckless brother promise to never hunt alone again. Not this year, not with the Deal over their heads, not ever. Sam thumbed speed dial one on his cell, teeth worrying at his lip as his brother's phone went straight to voice mail. Impatiently listening to "This is Dean…" Sam considered and discarded a dozen increasingly rude messages, and simply said "Call me" after the beep.

His stomach growled loudly. Man, he was starving. And thirsty. He stood and waited a minute for his head to stop spinning, took a hasty step toward the bathroom, and ended up face down on the carpet, sage green fibers up his nose and in his teeth. He spit out rug and God knew how much dirt before cranking his head around to see what had happened.

There was a rope knotted around his ankle. What the hell? Dean tied him to the bed? He was going to kill the bastard…once he used the john. After he saved Dean from the Deal, his brother would be fair game. Sam couldn't wait.

He ripped a nail down to the quick getting the knot loose, cursing the whole time, and it was all he could do not to moan in relief when he reached the toilet. A good whiff of his underarms got him in the shower. A shave to remove a lot of stubble, a floss and brush, and he started to feel human again.

Human or not, Sam still didn't know where his brother was. He felt skittish; a noise from the next room made him jump.

Dean's cell went right to voice mail again. "Dean. Really. Call me. And bring food. I'm starving."

He drank two bottles of water as he dressed, anxiety pricking at him. A car engine outside brought him to the door. There was no sign of the Impala when he swung it open, and he got a blast of humid, furnace-hot air for his trouble.

He sat on the bed and put on socks and shoes. Why was he worried about someone who had tied him to a bed, anyway? The smug turning-off-his-phone-and-tying-little-brother-to-the-bed jerk better not be hunting, and had better bring back something to eat or he was going to get a fist in his nose, Deal or no Deal.

Still, Sam kept looking at the door, willing it to open. After ten minutes, he left a third message for his brother. Something was wrong.

* * *

><p>Dean woke up, cheek pressed into bark, relieved to be free of lurid dreams of sweltering heat and a searing sun baking everything to ash and dust. "Sam?" He cleared his throat, and tried again. "Sam?" Nothing. The lingering sunlight of the summer dusk was totally screwing with his time sense. It could have been anywhere between seven and nine p.m. Ten hours, maybe twelve now, squished by a tree.<p>

Rocky was sitting almost directly overhead. "What are you…still doing here? Don't you…have a little tree bed…you should be in?" Squinting up, he considered. "Maybe you don't…want to leave…'cause you're a Rockette. Hadn't thought…about that. Chicks can't resist me."

But when the squirrel crossed from one branch to another, Dean's eyes widened. "Holy shit. Thanks for that image." Definitely a male. More shallow breaths. "Why do…rodents get balls…as big as their heads?" His stomach cramped, and he rolled his head to one side, dry heaving.

When he finally stopped, Rocky was a little closer. "Well, fuck, if this…isn't one of the…most stupid and disgusting…things that's ever happened to me." Movement caught his eye, and the squirrel reappeared on another branch. "And some…_really_ stupid…and disgusting things…have happened to me."

Breathing was a lot harder than it should have been. Less talk. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift until a series of sneezes jolted him, gasping, back to awareness. Pain spiked _everywhere_. He worked his lids open to find black, beady eyes staring at him from a few inches away.

"Damn…upholstered rat!" The squirrel skittered a few branches away. Dean panted, trying to catch his breath. "Wait, wait. 'Fore you go…how 'bout getting me some water, huh? Bottle in my pack," he twitched a finger, "right there." A breathy chuckle hurt his chest. "Have to teach…you to work a zipper." God, he was tired.

Something brushed his cheek and startled him awake. Blinking his eyes clear, he watched the squirrel put a tentative paw on his nose. The little hand came out again, aiming for his mouth, but Dean was able to angle his head away. "At least buy me…dinner first. Hell…I'm easy. Bottle of water."

His nose itched. Well, if that wasn't fanfuckingtastic. He must be allergic to his little woodland friend. He sneezed, scaring the squirrel back up the tree and out of sight, and setting off a fire in his chest as broken ribs grated against each other. He sneezed again, and this time it was so was so explosive, he jostled his leg and, oh, sweet Jesus, he didn't know what was wrong with his leg, but it was too much. His vision tunneled to a single bright spot. _Now would be a real good time to find me, Sam_.

* * *

><p>It had only been an hour. Not enough time to panic or call the cab company, even though he'd left the phone book open to their advertisement. Chewing his lip, Sam checked the parking lot for the twelfth time. In disgust, he started a pot of coffee, then plunked down in front of the laptop.<p>

From what he remembered, on the way into town, his brother had decided to make an impromptu visit to the site despite Sam having reminded him—well honestly, _telling_ him—they should research and prepare first, not go in blind. But Dean had turned the wheel and the Impala had left a cloud of dust behind them as they drove to the Adirondack Tree Farm and Nursery. "A quick recon," his brother had said with a grin. "Middle of the day. What could happen?"

Apparently something _had_ happened. He tapped the touch pad to close the screen saver—now set predictably to porn—and waited until the monitor resolved to a page on the Wila. Scanning through the information quickly, Sam tabbed through the other open pages. Dean had figured it out.

A key rattled in the lock and he blew out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Jerking the door open, he growled, "What were you thinking tying—?"

Bobby Singer was looking back at him.

"Bobby?" Sam looked past him into the parking lot. "What are you doing here? Where's Dean? Is he parking the car?"

Bobby snorted. "Real nice to see you, too, Sam. I was out getting food since I was damn sure I'd broken the spell. Had to get enough for an army." He held up a couple of bags. "You gonna let me in?"

Sam stepped aside but didn't close the door until he took a last look around the parking lot for a glimpse of his brother. Sam watched their old friend drop the bags, shiny with grease, on the room table. Bobby didn't stop, instead he made his way to the coffee machine and poured two cups of coffee. Raising his eyebrows in a question, he held one out to Sam, gesturing to him to sit down.

Sam shifted from one foot to the other. "Where's Dean?" he repeated.

Frowning, Bobby gestured again, more forcefully.

Sam, well trained from childhood, reluctantly did what his "uncle" asked. He took the coffee cup as moved to the table and sat, but nerves set one knee bouncing. "Bobby, please. Where's my brother?"

"Boy, that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question." A callused hand dropped on Sam's shoulder. "He's all right, I'm sure of it." Dropping onto the chair next to Sam, Bobby took a large gulp of his coffee. "Here." Pushing two of the three bags to Sam's side of the table, his expression gentled, brows up, a small smile on his lips. "It'll be fine, Sam. I'm going to talk while you eat, and then we're going to retrieve your brother."

"Retrieve him? Damn it, I knew something was wrong. C'mon. You can tell me in the car." Sam pushed up from the table, but a firm hand on his shoulder kept him in place.

"Not going anywhere until you eat. Bet you're feeling a bit weak in the knees, too."

"How long's he been…? I can't sit here—"

"Sam. Listen to me. You haven't had anything to eat or drink that Dean and I didn't force in you for almost three days. We'll go find him, but not until you eat." Bobby upended one of the bags, and pointed at the wrapped burgers that spilled out onto the table. "All of these, at least."

Sam gaped at him, but his attention was drawn inexorably to the table. The smell was making his mouth water. He fiddled with the wrapping paper, lips quirking up. He was getting as bad as Dean.

"Close your mouth around one of those burgers before the flies get in. A few minutes ain't going to matter. The Wila isn't going to kill him and she's not dangerous with the right protection. All he had to do to kill her was pull out some of that long yellow hair. Worst case, he's been running around buck naked in the woods, singing and dancing..."

Sam looked up, raising his eyebrows, the better part of a cheeseburger in his mouth.

Bobby continued, "Just like Dean found you."

The burger went down the wrong way. Bobby was pounding on his back, ground beef was trying to force its way into his lungs, his eyes were watering, and crumbs were going _everywhere_. "I _what_?" Coughing, "I was what?"

"Naked as a jaybird. Trying to follow that blonde bimbo like a horny puppy." Bobby pulled his cap lower. "Leastwise, that's what Dean said."

"I…I don't remember."

"We couldn't take our eyes off you for two days, Sam, or you'd be out the door." Bobby's concerned expression dissolved into a full out shit-eating grin. "Keeping you in skivvies was hard enough, but it was nigh on impossible to keep you in the room." Piercing eyes met his over the rim of a coffee cup. "Dean could always catch your nudist ass before you got out of the parking lot. Me, I voted to hit you over the head. We compromised. Tied you to the bed just before he left."

Sam's cheeks were burning. Running around naked? _A horny puppy? _He was never going to hear the end of this. Rubbing his hands over his face, feeling the blush work down his neck, he opened his eyes on a long breath. "Um, I'm, ah, glad you compromised."

Bobby barked out a laugh.

Sam glared at him, but couldn't help laughing along when Bobby, eyes tearing up, choked out a story about Sam scaring a vacationing family in the parking lot.

He cleared his throat. "When did he leave? And why didn't he wait for me?" Focusing all of his anxiety into a single determined look, he demanded, "Where the hell is he, Bobby?"

* * *

><p>His first thought was that his head was killing him. Second…he wasn't sure what the second one was. There was a noise, a shrill, raspy, screech that was starting to make his teeth itch. "Sam?" He breathed out harshly. His mouth felt like it was full of sand. "Rocky, if that's you… I'm so going to have Sam…make you into…something." The repetitive noise exacerbated the pounding in his head, making him wince.<p>

It was full dark and a breeze brushed across his cheek, making him shiver. It had been so hot that afternoon he'd probably roasted a little bit. Licking his chapped lips with an even dryer tongue, he wondered what was taking Bobby so long to break the Wila's hold on Sam. It'd been…he didn't know how long it had been. They had to come soon. Another day of this heat… His right hand pushed uselessly toward his pocket. If he could reach his phone, he'd tell Bobby he'd been wrong about tying Sam to the bed. He'd tell him to go ahead and hit Sam over the head, or lock him in a shed, or the trunk of the Chevelle, _anything_, so someone could get there with some water. And a chain saw.

Knowing Bobby, and he knew Bobby really well, no way was he going to worry. It was only a Wila. Dean needed to tell Bobby— Another breeze felt like ice against his skin, but the relief was short-lived. He was burning up inside. He needed to tell Bobby it had nothing to do with a buxom blonde or linden blooms or anything supernatural. It had everything to do with one of those violent but brief summer storms. Lightning struck so close, he was momentarily blinded, and the resulting clap of thunder so loud, he didn't hear the tree start to groan and topple. He needed Bobby to worry.

At least when the tree came down, it had smashed him into the ground face up. He could see a sliver of sky and light from the sun, talk to a squirrel… Stars were barely visible through the mass of branches over him. That had to be better than staring at leaf litter and centipedes. He couldn't raise his head enough to see, but it felt like the trunk came up on the left, crossed his torso compressing his left arm to his chest, and continued over his right shoulder. Branches pinned down everything else.

A scrambling sound, and Rocky was back, still screeching, lashing his tail around like a whip. "What the hell…is the matter with you? Don't you sleep?" The squirrel clambered a few branches away, still calling. There was something he should be remembering about that noise.

Squirrel alarm noise. That was it. Rocky was scared of something, but what would be after a squirrel in the middle of the night? A snake? No, snakes were asleep, and so should little tree rats. Maybe an owl. He'd heard them calling plenty of times while he was hunting, and seen them, too, gliding silently on immense wings… He hoped Rocky wasn't on the menu. "Rocky, buddy, you'd…better shut up."

Something was moving on his right. Dean hoped it was something friendly because there was squat he could do. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe right, and he was so damn hot, he couldn't think straight. A deer would be okay, or a little groundhog maybe, just please not a bear, or a cougar, or a wendigo coming to eat him or Rocky. Whatever it was, it was nosing around the tree.

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><p>TBC<p> 


	2. Wasn't the Tree Enough?

Bobby poured Sam another cup of coffee. "Keep eating. Do you remember going to the nursery on Tuesday?"

Sam nodded.

"Remember much after that?"

Sam shook his head as he ran through their actions again. "We pulled up and walked in. Suspected it was a Wila the minute we got there. The nursery is the largest provider of Linden trees in the country, Polish immigrants all over," he mumbled around a mouthful, "and July is when the Linden trees bloom. Wila sign." Brushing crumbs off his lap, he asked, "What happened?"

"You walked through the nursery and into the forest. Dean said one minute you were right behind him, the next you were buck naked and hoofing it toward the east. He had to tackle you to get you to stop. Brought you here and called me. That was Tuesday. I got here Wednesday late, and we tried to break whatever that bitch's hold was on you. Nothing worked, and Dean headed out Thursday morning."

Sam looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "I got nothing."

"Let's say the porch light was on, but nobody was home. You wouldn't eat, drink, or sleep. Straight outta the lore." Bobby tossed him another burger and a bag of fries.

Sam dutifully took a bite and another sip of coffee. "I dreamed about Jessica, I think. Blonde hair. Singing." He looked down and ran a toe in a circle on the carpet, feeling another blush creep up his cheeks. "Did I do anything else embarrassing?"

"Nothing lots of other folks haven't done under the influence of a Polish tree nymph."

"Somehow that doesn't make me feel better."

"Shouldn't. You were a fruit loop. I finally got the spell off last night and you were out like a light. Couldn't wake you."

Sam stood, licking his fingers, almost full after four or five burgers. He chucked the wrappers and bags on his way to the door. "Let's go."

Bobby stood and tossed him a final burger. "Keep eating, Nature Boy."

Sam caught it one-handed, cramming it into his mouth as he followed Bobby outside, and folded himself into the passenger seat of the Chevelle. Bobby climbed in and started the engine. When he moved a hand toward the gear shift, Sam realized something. "Wait a minute. You didn't eat." He looked at his hands guiltily. "Did I eat your lunch, too?"

Bobby growled, "And you call Dean a bottomless pit." He peeled out of the lot.

After a few minutes in silence, Sam looked over at his friend. "Why didn't Dean wait?"

"News report. That Peterson guy you were looking for? Ended up flattened by a semi on the interstate Tuesday night."

"Damn. He'd been missing for a couple of days before we got here." Sam rubbed his eyes. "He was walking his dog."

"Then on Wednesday another worker at the nursery went missing. Dean was itching to go but couldn't until someone could watch you."

"I'm glad you could come, Bobby." Shifting in his seat, he rolled down the window, letting the flow of humid air brush against his face. Something was very wrong. Drumming a hand against the arm rest, he gazed unseeing at the passing scenery until a road sign caught his attention. "Can't you make this heap go faster? The nursery is still forty-five minutes away." It came out harsher than he'd intended, making him wince. "Sorry, man, it's just…"

"You got it, Sam." Bobby took a turn on two wheels and accelerated.

* * *

><p>Turned out he wasn't allergic to dogs. Thank God, really, since the dog had wormed its way through the branches and curled up near his left ear. He'd wanted a dog really badly when he was little. He'd gotten a little brother instead, which at the time he'd figured to be a good deal. Still did, all in all, but right now, the dog was there with him, and said little brother was frisking about in his altogether.<p>

Like the dog. That made him laugh and holy shit, it hurt. Rocky was rustling around again now that the dog had settled down. Dean was still shivering. He fell asleep before he could figure out a reason why being cold on a balmy summer night wasn't a bad thing.

The dog woke him up in the morning, licking as much of his face as it could reach. The sun was up but hidden on the other side of the tree trunk. He thought it was probably Friday. Sam and Bobby and a gallon of water couldn't be that far away.

In the meantime, he would…lie there. Watch the sun climb higher in the sky. He opened his eyes sometime later, disoriented, a warm breath in his ear.

"Sam?" Something heavy on his shoulder. "Sammy. Get me…outta here." His voice was down to a scratchy whisper. His ear was suddenly wet. A soft whine. Not Sam. The dog from last night. Dog could hear him. "Wha'cha doin' here…fella?" More licks. "Wanna help, don' you? Helpful dog…all hoverin'." He tried to work up enough saliva to swallow.

A scratching noise above him, and the squirrel appeared from behind the leaves, eyeing the dog suspiciously. "Rocky, this is… What kind of dog…are you, anyway? Don't need a view…of the privates…or anything. Private viewing… I'm a funny guy, Clifford. Unless you're a bitch. Then, 'course…you're Samantha."

He knew he was losing it. He had the heat thing, exhaustion. Would be heatstroke soon. Needed water, cool bath, more water, lots more water… His stomach was trying to tie itself in knots. Heatstroke. Hallucinations, seizures. "Goin' nuts. Already talking to…dogs'n squirrels." It felt like little pieces of his brain were dissolving. "Could be…a water dog." He shouldn't be thinking about water. Made his stomach cramp up. "Rescue dog. One'a those big ones… thing on the neck? Wouldn't bring booze…day like this. Bring water."

The next time he was aware enough to notice, the forest was louder. Birds flew overhead and there seemed to be a dozen squirrels above him. Branches swayed in the breeze, birds chirped, and his imagination kept turning the sounds into deer, and rabbits, 'possums, and chipmunks, all cute and happy, all leading Sam and Bobby right to him. Like a cartoon or a Disney movie maybe. Long as it wasn't _Bambi…_

* * *

><p>They drove until they found the Impala on a side road tucked behind some shrubbery. Sam had directed Bobby right to it. It didn't feel like any kind of Spidey sense or Shining, it was just knowing his brother really, really well.<p>

Bobby pulled up next to the classic Chevy. Sam jumped out and checked that it was empty before he and Bobby started walking.

"I hope we find more than a pile of clothes." Sam looked up from the Bobby's GPS and pointed in a more easterly direction. "Gonna be hard to figure where he might have run to."

"He'll probably stay near the linden trees. Wila will be there, so will he."

"But Peterson was found miles from here."

"Maybe the bitch got tired of him. He was missing a lot longer than Dean." Bobby took off his cap and wiped sweat from his brow. "I don't know for sure, Sam, but if we can't track him with his phone, we have to have a starting place, and the nursery is going to be our best bet. We'll fan out from there."

Sam fingered the charm on his wrist. "You sure this is going to protect us?"

"That was the easy part, boy. Hand me some water, would'ja?"

"Why didn't it protect Dean?"

"We'll find out soon enough."

According to the GPS, Dean's phone was about two miles ahead, and Sam couldn't help chivvying Bobby about going faster until his impatience got the better of him. He started to jog, his pack slapping him on the back with every step. Even that wasn't enough. He called back "I'll yell when I get there" and ran full out.

He knew the phone's GPS wasn't as precise as the GPS in his hand, but he was still a little disappointed when he reached the spot and no scattered clothing was visible. It was much more disappointing not to magically find his brother, naked or not, standing there waiting to greet him. He yelled and heard Bobby's answer not that far away.

The GPS was dead center on the coordinates. He turned slowly in a circle, scanning for anything out of place, and found trees. Trees, more trees, bushes, some sunlight, dead leaves, trees…

"Dean!" No answer and he didn't hear Dean's phone ring when he dialed it again. When Bobby reached him, they dropped their packs as markers, and started to cast out, a few yards north, back to center, northeast, center, east, and center.

Something crashing through the underbrush brought both of them to the ready. Sam started forward, but Bobby pulled him back, already aiming his gun unerringly toward the sound.

* * *

><p>It was so damn hot. And he kept thinking about that fucking movie. After a while, the tree, the woods, everything slipped away, and images and memories he would sooner forget eased into his mind as smooth and slick as a shot of tequila. He and Sam and <em>Bambi<em>. Sammy was little, all big eyes and hair, fretting with a toothache. He'd been crying on and off all day. Dad was days late, there was no baby aspirin, and Sam couldn't sleep.

So Dean put what should have been a perfect little brother movie into the VCR. He didn't even have to pay for it, a quick grab at a yard sale, and he'd shown Sam the box, and then they were watching it, and there were gunshots, and Bambi was saying "Mother? Mother?" and then the cartridge was out of the machine and he was stomping on it. Stomping it into bits.

He wasn't sure who had cried the most then, but man, he'd hated Disney since. Should put warnings on shit like that. Kill a kid's mom… His eyes were too dry to cry but there was definitely a lump in his throat. Felt like he was there now, holding Sam for dear life, bawling his eyes out right with the kid.

A cold nose brought him back to his prison. "Sam."

She barked, pawing at the branches around him.

"Can't dig…me outta here." Things started to move in a slow circle. Dean closed his eyes and wished he could hold onto something, but he was sliding back into his head and there were no more Disney movies. Just nightmarish images of what was going to happen when the Deal was due: hellhounds, pain, searing heat... "Find Sam, girl. Find Sam."

* * *

><p>Sam instinctively drew his gun and aimed. "Is it Dean?"<p>

Bobby shook his head.

Sam started forward again just as something below waist level barreled between two trees and took his feet right out from under him. He hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs, but was up in a moment, wheezing in air, and wiping at his streaming eyes. "Bobby?" He didn't hear his friend answer. Instead, he heard…a dog. There was some kind of retriever with a long tail dancing around Bobby, barking and wiggling. "What the hell?"

"I don't know, Sam! She came out of nowhere."

The dog bounded over to Sam and pushed its nose under his hand. Sam stroked her head, pinching a burr out of her silky fur. On a hunch, he turned the dog's collar until he could check the tags. "This is Peterson's dog. She's been out here by herself a long time."

Bobby tsked. "Probably hungry and thirsty. Give her a bottle of water."

Sam offered, but she backed away, barking excitedly. When neither of them moved, she dodged forward, and backed away again, her plume of a tail wagging. He couldn't help it. "What is it, Lassie? Do you want us to follow you?"

Bobby snorted and walked toward the dog. "I'm game." She spun and disappeared into the undergrowth, Bobby in close pursuit. Sam went in after them and found himself in a small clearing. He cracked another bottle of water and upended half of it over his head before drinking the rest. The dog was running back and forth along a fallen tree, then she started to dig between a few branches.

"So much for Lassie. Dean's not here."

"Tree hasn't been down long. See how white the wood is at the break? Maybe his clothes're under there."

"Worth a shot." He had to pry his fingers off the GPS and shake them a couple of times before he could snag his phone and thumb redial. His anxiety about Dean was keeping his adrenaline level up and it felt like ants were crawling over his skin. The dog began barking. "Not sure I can hear anything over the dog." Bobby called her and Sam impatiently climbed out on the tree, dialing again. He shouted, "I can hear it! Right where the dog was." He worked a foot through a break in the branches to the ground, got one foot onto the trunk, hoisted a large branch up and peered underneath it.

"Holy—_Dean!_" Panicked, he stumbled off the trunk and fell backward, scooting on his ass away from anything that could be pressing on his brother. "Bobby! He's under here! The tree…the trunk's right on him. How can we move _that_?" He stood and had to bend over, hands on thighs, forcing himself to breathe through his nose, pointing a shaking arm at the massive trunk. He took a shaky breath, tears pricking at his eyes. "God, Bobby, I don't even know if he's alive."

"I'll call 911. See if you can get to him!"

Sam tossed the GPS to Bobby, shrugged out of his pack, and waded in. Most of the larger branches broke, but the smaller ones he could only bend out of his way, desperate to clear a path to his brother. Who still wasn't moving. "Dean! Dean, wake up."

Bobby called out, "Rescue's coming. There's a team looking for the missing guy not too far from here. They're calling in support."

"How's it look? Can we lift it off?"

Bobby was walking the length of the tree. "I don't see how. But the trunk didn't go all the way to the ground when it fell. It's still attached at the stump, and the top is resting on another tree. There might be enough room under there…"

"For him to still be alive?" Grimacing, Sam worked furiously and cleared Dean's face and shoulder, able at last to reach in and press two fingers against the too-warm neck. Feeling a racing pulse, he gulped in air and heaved out a sigh of relief. "He's alive, Bobby. Heart rate is way up." Sunlight lanced through an opening, illuminating Dean's cheek and forehead. Sam shook his brother's shoulder. "Dean, wake up."

"How's he doing?"

"Burning up, red…not sweating. That's—"

"Heat sickness. See if you can get some water in him."

"I know! Throw me my pack." Catching it one-handed, Sam pulled out a couple of bottles. Dean's mouth was open, his jaw slack in unconsciousness. Sam put a bottle to his brother's lips, and tipped in a few drops. "Dean? I've got some water." He tried a few more drops, but there was no sign of returning awareness. He slapped Dean's cheek and pinched his earlobe with no effect. Wincing because he knew how much it hurt, Sam knuckled Dean's sternum.

Dean's eyes started to move behind their lids. He stretched his neck as he sucked in a breath, or tried to. If Dean had been totally aware, Sam never would have heard the exhausted groan. He tipped some water onto Dean's head, and put a little more on his lips. "Come on, bro. Water. Swallow."

Dean sputtered a little but eventually his throat worked and he swallowed. Sam gave him small sips before pulling the bottle away and pouring some over his brother's flushed face. "Dean, can you open your eyes?"

His brother shook his head minutely and licked his lips. "More."

"In a few minutes. Want to make you sure you aren't going to throw it up."

Sam had been peripherally aware of Bobby moving around them, even talking on the phone at one point, but when the older man appeared on the far side of the trunk and spoke, he was surprised enough to jerk.

"Arm's clear on this side. Right leg, too."

"Where's the rescue team?"

"Few minutes out." Bobby poured water on Dean's free arm and over his t-shirt. "Wet him down on that side. How's the rest of him look?"

"Breathing's off, shallow. Left hand's under the tree."

Bobby grunted. "Difficulty breathing is a sign of—"

"He has a _tree_ on his chest!" Sam rubbed his face. "Sorry. Sorry. Heatstroke. I thought… _hoped_ that maybe since he's been in the shade, it wouldn't be so bad." He ran tentative fingers down his brother's side. There was blood on Dean's t-shirt and jeans. "Bleeding from a couple of places." He brought his attention back to Dean's face and offered him more water. "Just a few more minutes, Dean, and we'll have you out of here."

To his surprise, Dean's eyes fluttered open. "Outta where?"

"Dean? Hey." Sam cupped the back of Dean's head and lifted it, helping him drink a few more sips. "Rescue crew's on the way."

One side of Dean's mouth quirked up. "Good dog."

"What?" Sam looked around. "Oh, man, I forgot. Where's the dog? Did she run off?"

Bobby pointed with his chin. "Tied up over there."

Sam spotted her sitting in the shade, tongue lolling. "The dog's fine, Dean."

His brother didn't seem to hear him. His gaze wandered from the trunk on his shoulder to the sky. "Rocky?" Squinting against the sun, he tried again. "Wha' happened…to the tree?"

Sam gripped his shoulder. "Dean. Look at me."

Dean rolled his head into the trunk, eyes searching. "We gotta… Samantha, where's Rocky?"

"Samantha?" Sam rolled his eyes. "Nice, Dean. Who's Rocky?"

The dog started to bark.

Dean's eyes lost focus, glassy and unseeing. "Dogs. It's happening." He started to thrash, his free arm weakly knocking against Bobby's leg. "Hellhounds. Comin'. Don' let 'em…" Dean twisted and let out a strangled scream before his eyes rolled back in his head, his entire body quivering, muscles spasming.

Bobby dove forward, shouting, "He's having a seizure! Hold him down or he'll be hurt a lot worse!"

Sam cupped Dean's head again, holding it off the forest floor, and pressed down on Dean's shoulder. Panting, he looked at Bobby, who was face first in the leaves, his arms outstretched through the branches to reach Dean's legs. "Where the hell is Rescue?"

Voice muffled by leaves, Bobby grated out, "You think I have a crystal ball?"

The dog was still barking, up on her hind legs and pulling against the rope tethering her to a tree.

Bobby's head came up out of the leaves. He was sweating, face red with exertion. Exasperated, he shouted over his shoulder, "Quiet, you idiot dog. Sit!"

The dog promptly obeyed, clearly recognizing the voice of authority.

Bobby turned his attention back to Sam. "Lotta blood from his leg, Sam. I can't see it but…"

"What?"

"May be a branch or something stuck in him."

"Shit, Bobby, wasn't the tree enough?"

Dean's body went limp, his cheek rolling into Sam's palm. Sam leaned forward and rested his forehead on Dean's. "Help's coming. I'm not leaving you under a tree. I promise. We'll get you fixed up."

The dog started barking excitedly again, straining at the rope, nose pointed not at them but toward the east. Bobby hushed her and they could both hear voices approaching. He grinned at Sam. "It's the rescue team." Bobby pulled off his cap and ran toward the sound, waving and shouting, "Here! We're here."

* * *

><p>Time was screwed up, the bitch, and nothing made sense. His eyes were open, closed, he was drifting one second, then painfully awake the next. Too much noise. And lights. He blinked and sky was overhead, blinked again and it was dark. He tried to raise his head to see what was happening, and suddenly someone was too close, shouting at him over the noise.<p>

He had no idea what they were saying. Hands were touching him, and he couldn't find Sam. More shouting and a dog…something about dogs. He couldn't remember. Things were slipping and sliding in his head, and he was so hot he could barely breathe.

There was sky overhead. No branches. No squirrels. The dog. Where was Sam? No way he wouldn't be hovering, sucking up all the air. If he could. Not with…with the Deal hanging over them. If his brother was able to, he'd have been there, and he'd help him make sense of this.

If Sam wasn't there… Everything crystallized in a single blink. His brother couldn't be there because the Deal must have come due. He didn't remember dying, but maybe that was normal. He thought he'd had a few more months. But he was alone, and hot, and being tortured. He must have died.

He had to get out, get away, but he couldn't breathe. He was sucking fire into his lungs, burning his mouth, his throat… Something was on his face, covering his nose and mouth, and he had to get it off before it went down his throat, putting something in him, trying to change him, change him into a demon like that bitch Ruby.

* * *

><p>TBC<p> 


	3. Thank You, Dr Winchester

It'd been an hour of whining chain saws as the rescue crew cleared limbs and branches from the oak tree, preparing for what they called "the lift." Bobby and Sam had been relegated to a safe distance during the process, the rescue team allowing only the medic to stay by Dean. Sam paced back and forth, chewing on a hangnail, constantly positioning himself to keep as clear a view of his brother as he could.

Dean didn't react as the IV was inserted and he was layered in cool packs. When the last chain saw was pulled away and silenced, the medic circled the trunk and came up on Dean's left side, getting down on his knees to inspect the bleeding leg. Finally, he stood and circled back to their position on the sidelines.

He introduced himself as Tad. "Your brother?"

Sam nodded. "Dean. This is our uncle, Bobby. How is he? How much longer before you get the tree off him? Shouldn't the equipment be here by now?"

"Whoa." Tad chuckled and held his hands up in front of him. "Let me see if I can take this in order. He's as stable as I can make him until the tree is removed. About ten minutes. That's because the equipment is almost here. You said he had a seizure before we arrived?"

Sam nodded. "He'd been talking a little before but he wasn't making any sense."

"His temperature's down a little from sky high and I'm pumping fluids into him, but he's not going to be out of danger until we get him to a hospital. Heatstroke is serious business. The sooner we have him out of here, the better chance he has."

Sam's mouth went bone dry. He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pushing his bangs away from his face. "Is there any good news?"

Bobby interrupted. "What about his leg? Looks like something might be sticking in it."

"You've got to remember, Dean is incredibly lucky to be in as good a shape as he is. He wasn't immediately crushed. He's disoriented, but he didn't slip into a coma. He could have been run through by branches and bled out before you found him." Tad put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "He's alive against a lot of odds."

Bobby cleared his throat and looked away, wiping at his eyes.

Sam let out a huge breath, feeling some of the tension drain out of his back and shoulders. "Thanks for letting us know. But," Sam said, starting to frown, "his leg?"

Tad lifted his ball cap and scratched his head, looking back at Dean, reminding Sam suddenly of Bobby. "I'm worried about that. Normally, we're able to see an impalement, and we make sure not to remove it. The doctors do that in surgery. If there is a branch in his leg…we can't get to it and cut it from the tree until the trunk is lifted. And lifting the trunk is going to remove the branch."

The medic's radio crackled into life. "The chopper's almost here. I've got to keep him as still as possible while the trunk is being lifted." He nodded to them both and walked back to Dean.

Sam looked at Bobby. "I hate it when anyone talks about our 'luck.' Knowing Dean, he'll wake up in time to have a panic attack about flying."

Bobby nodded. "Let's hope he stays unconscious."

Craning his neck, Sam saw Tad moving to put a hand on Dean's shoulder, pressing him back to the ground. "What'd I tell you about our luck? He's awake." Anxiously, he took a few steps forward, stopping when Bobby gripped his arm.

"Sam, leave them to it for now."

"He's never going to hold still." Sam fidgeted in place, splitting his attention between the approaching helicopter and his brother, watching Dean thrash as the chuffing noise grew louder and louder. Sam finally shook off Bobby's hand and sprinted to the tree.

Dropping to his knees next to Tad, he held Dean's face between his hands, trying not to dislodge the oxygen mask. Dean's eyes were wide, panic-stricken, darting back and forth, seeing only things locked in his imagination. The mask fogged with the staccato rhythm of his breathing. "Dean! Look at me. I'm right here!"

Tad pulled at his arm until Sam, exasperated, looked away from Dean. Sam shouted, "Can you give him anything? A sedative, painkiller?"

Tad shook his head and shouted back, "Compromised breathing. Coma."

All Sam could do was nod, the chopper now overhead. The noise was mindboggling, wind from the blades whipping hair into his eyes. Focused back on his brother, Sam leaned forward, trying to catch his brother's eyes, shouting into his ear. "Dean! It's me, Sam. You have to calm down."

Dean stilled, glassy eyes locked on Sam with a manic intensity. His lips were moving. Sam lifted the mask and put his ear right to Dean's mouth, cupping his hands to block out the noise of the machine overhead. What he could make out was a litany of denials, huffed out in painful gasps.

"No, God, not you, not Sam, not him, no, no, no…"

Sam grabbed Dean's biceps and squeezed, rubbing his thumb back and forth, using the other hand to keep Dean's face pointed right at him. He got his mouth by Dean's ear and shouted. "Can you hear me, man? Everything's going to be fine. I'm right here. I'm fine. You have to calm down, Dean, right now."

Dean's muscles were still taut, his jaw clenching and unclenching, but Sam was sure he saw a barely perceptible nod. "Good. Good. Look. I'm going to put the oxygen mask back on, okay? Hold still. You have to hold still. Understand? You have to hold still or we won't be able to get you out of here."

Another nod, Dean's breath fogging the mask again.

Sam hunched a shoulder and did his best to protect his brother from the noise, the shouting, and the frantic activity all around them. He bent forward again to shout in Dean's ear. "That's it. That's it. I'm going to be right here, Dean. You keep looking at me, right here," he leaned back, pointing at his eyes, "look right here and try to relax." Dean's eyes swung upward, and Sam leaned forward to block the view of the helicopter. He patted Dean's cheek, bringing his brother's erratic attention back to him.

Tad shook his shoulder. "They've got the trunk secured. We're going to lift in another minute. We've got to move!"

Sam knew he had to move but the thought of leaving Dean trapped, pinned, delirious, alone with this…mayhem all around him? It made him stop breathing. Despite hands on his shoulders and arms, he grabbed Dean's duffel and rooted through it, looking for something, anything, that might help. His fingers closed on a piece of cloth just as a calloused hand dragged his chin up and Bobby dropped into his field of vision.

Shouting "Okay, okay, I'm coming!" to Bobby, he bent forward one last time, his hands frantically rolling the cloth, a t-shirt probably, into a blindfold, and shouted in his brother's ear, "_Close your eyes and don't move_!" He tied the cloth over Dean's eyes in a rough knot and allowed Bobby to pull him and the duffel up and away, until he spun and ran with Bobby to the edge of the clearing. They both turned to watch.

The clearing was transformed, had transformed while he'd been focused on Dean. It was larger, cleared of brush and trees. The tree crossing over Dean was stripped of branches and trussed for lifting, a neat web of lines leading back up to the chopper. Holding his breath, Sam watched Tad gesture and yell, then locked his eyes on Dean. The lines tightened, and the tree appeared to shudder.

Dean's head jerked up, mouth open, straining against the tree, the noise, the blindfold, and only Bobby's strong arm kept Sam from running back to his brother. His attention was drawn to the single remaining crewman running a chain saw through the last pieces of tree trunk still attached to the stump. An involuntary gasp was forced from his throat as the crewman threw himself to the ground just as the trunk, slowly rising, swung in a lazy arc, passing a few feet over Dean and the crewman before lifting out of sight.

* * *

><p>Sam shouldn't have been with him in Hell, Dean was sure of that. But he was in Hell, and there was Sam… He didn't remember. He didn't remember how this worked, and what they were doing to him… Had done to him? It was so damn hot. Hellfire. Must be hellfire making him feel like the sun had gone nova<p>

And there was Sam, all emo and concerned, telling him to calm down and hold still, and there was a big piece of wood on his shoulder that reminded him of something, but he couldn't think straight. But Sam was right there. Or something that looked like Sam, and even if his eyes turned black right that moment, Dean wouldn't give a damn because it meant he wasn't alone anymore.

Then Sam was putting something over his eyes and yelling at him, and it was so damn loud all of a sudden he lost track of everything until his leg lit up like fireworks and his fingers were digging into leaves and dirt, and he couldn't bring in enough air to scream.

* * *

><p>Tad bent at the waist and raced forward as soon as the trunk was above five feet, bellowing orders to his team, to Bobby, and to Sam. Sam could see Dean moving now, one hand scrabbling at the oxygen mask.<p>

Sam fell on his knees by Dean's head, his right hand on the mask, his left pressing down on a bleeding wound in Dean's chest. "No, no, leave that on. It's all right. It's all right. The tree is gone."

Bobby dropped heavily next to them, his grunt audible now that the helicopter had moved off, and pressed both hands down on a puncture wound about halfway between Dean's hip and knee. Sam held on as Dean's back arched, muscles and tendons standing out in high relief up his neck and shoulders. "Hang on, Dean! Hang on."

Things were moving impossibly fast. Tad was yelling into the mike on his shoulder while he unwrapped field dressings. He signaled Bobby to pull his hands up, and quickly applied pressure bandages in their place, wrapping Dean's leg with neat precision.

Dean's muscles relaxed, but his eyes were rolling under his lids, breath sharp and fast. He didn't react when Sam covertly tugged the Colt free and tucked it into the back of his jeans with his own weapon. Dean was probably going to have a gun-sized bruise for a while.

Tad immobilized the leg and bandaged the other smaller puncture wounds, then came up on the right and wrapped Dean's neck in a cervical collar. He stood, shouting to the rest of the rescue team. Two men ran up with a metal framework, straps dangling. It was a rescue basket from the helicopter. Sam hadn't even seen them drop it off.

He picked up Dean's left hand—the one that had been under the tree—in his own, and pulled at a handful of long blonde hair, unwrapping it carefully from around Dean's fingers. "Her hair. You got the Wila, didn't you?" Dean's hand flexed around the hair, holding tight, his head rolling against the collar. Sam leaned forward, talking loudly over the shouted directions and the slow _whump-whump_ of the approaching helicopter. "Hey. I got you. You're almost out of here."

The hand Sam was holding started to jerk erratically. "Dean, it's okay. Calm down."

The chopper came in lower this time, its engine and backwash drowning out every sound, and throwing leaves and branches up in a cyclone around them. The basket was maneuvered next to his brother. Sam couldn't believe how practiced this looked, like they'd rehearsed this scenario dozens of times, everyone moving like clockwork, steady, precise, controlled.

Dean's hand pulled from his grip. Looking down, he discovered Dean staring wide-eyed at the approaching helicopter. Sam put a hand out to block the view, but he was too late. Dean began to struggle weakly, pulling at the mask again.

Sam grabbed Tad's arm, roaring over the noise, "Tell me you can give him something! He's scared of flying!"

Instead of answering, Tad shouted back, "Help me roll him on his side!" The EMTs pushed Dean up and over almost into Sam's lap.

Sam's stomach dropped. Muscle spasms were rolling up and down Dean's arm. Another seizure. His mouth went dry when Dean's eyes rolled up, body trembling and shaking. Sam counted, his brain saying thirty seconds would be okay, acceptable, but screw it, thirty seconds was too goddamn long as he counted twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…thirty-three, thirty-four. It wasn't until he was up to forty that Dean's body went limp, his head again rolling in Sam's cupped palm. Frantic fingers pressed into Dean's neck, Sam felt his stomach lurch again. There was no pulse.

He reached out a long arm and dragged Tad closer, screaming, "He's not breathing!"

Tad shouted again and one of the EMTs swarming around scrambled to bring a portable defibrillator. Despite the chaos of noise and wind, Tad set up the equipment calmly and unerringly. Sam was suddenly yanked backward and dragged from his brother's side. Bobby didn't stop until they were halfway to the edge of the clearing, then stood, both hands clamped down on Sam's shoulders.

Ted applied the paddles, and Dean's back arched, electricity coursing through him once, twice… Sam had to turn away for a moment, the almost overwhelming reminder of watching this happen before making him nauseated. Seeing movement, he looked back. Tad and the EMTs all moved at once, and Sam could only watch as Dean was rolled onto a backboard, lifted, and strapped into the basket.

The basket started to lift.

Bobby's strong arms were the only reason Sam didn't go right up with it, dangling from the basket by his fingertips. It seemed to take forever, but it was probably no more than five minutes until the basket was winched up and safely brought inside the copter. Sam's eyes remained glued on the huge machine as it banked and climbed, not looking away until it disappeared over the trees and into the slanting light of the setting sun.

Tad clapped him on the shoulder, then started to pack up.

Eyes tearing up, Sam blinked them clear, rolling his aching neck and shoulders even as his abdomen cramped. It took a minute to realize Bobby was talking to him.

"We'll drop off Boadicea on the way to the hospital, okay, Sam? Sam?"

He dragged his eyes back and down to Bobby's concerned face. "What?"

"The Peterson dog. Her name is Boadicea. We'll drop her off on the way to the hospital."

"It's Boudica. No one says Boadicea anymore."

"It's just a dog, Sam."

Sam pulled out the hank of blonde hair and held it up. "He got the Wila. Found this in his hand. Dean killed it."

Bobby reached out and touched the flaxen hair. His hands looked rusty and flaking. They were covered in dried blood. Dean's blood.

Sam's stomach roiled. Doubling over, he puked right on Bobby's boots.

* * *

><p>"I killed her though, didn't I?"<p>

"Yes. I already told you. You killed her."

Sam was starting to look worried. Dean would have to remember not to ask that again. Still, it was hard not to when most of the last couple of days were blurry. "Oh. And then a tree fell on me." He rubbed his face, shifting uncomfortably under the starchy sheets. "I don't remember."

"Good." Sam scooted the chair a little closer. "You were hallucinating at the end. Looked pretty rough."

Dean lifted the sheet off his leg and rubbed around the bandage. "What's rough is that I do remember chasing your naked ass around the parking lot. That's an image I could do without. Should've let Bobby knock you out."

"Yeah, you should have."

Dean gave up and tossed the sheet off him, letting it puddle at the end of the bed.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

"I don't know. They shaved it. Feels funny."

"Probably time for your pain meds."

"Thank you, Doctor Winchester."

As if on cue, a nurse and doctor came in, the nurse checking Dean's temperature and blood pressure while the doctor scanned the chart.

"I'm going to check your leg," the doc said.

Thankfully, Sam excused himself to get some coffee, making this visit slightly less demeaning.

The exam was the usual frustrating blend of the impersonal, treating Dean's wound as if it were attached to a mannequin, and the intensely personal, asking question after question about evacuations and urine production, how he felt, and did his ears ring, and crap like that.

"So, when can I check out of here? Going to recoup at a friend's house as soon as you release me."

"I would normally be tempted to keep you another day, but with reasonable care, immobilization, and pain management, you'll probably do better out than in." The doctor tapped a few things on his PDA, then looked up. "We're waiting on the results of a culture and the last blood workup. If those are clear, we'll send you home with antibiotics this afternoon."

The doctor breezed out, leaving the nurse to clean and rebandage his leg. By the time she was done, sweat was beading on Dean's forehead. She smiled, gave him a tiny paper cup with two painkillers in it, and held out a glass of water. If she noticed his hand shook a little bit, she was kind enough not to say anything.

The pills were starting to give a hazy glow to the room when Sam ambled back with two cups of coffee. "Doing okay?"

"Yeah. Doc said I could leave this afternoon."

"Good. Bobby will probably kill the fatted calf."

"What?"

"Cook great big steaks, you idiot." Sam set Dean's coffee on the rolling table and swung it up to the bed, then sat on the edge of the mattress, one leg swinging. "Who's Rocky?"

"Rocky?"

"You talked about him. I can't figure it out."

Dean looked up at the ceiling for a minute, culling his brain for a clue. Two words came to him. "Brunswick stew."

"Rocky what? Makes your favorite Brunswick stew?"

Dean grinned. "No, no. He goes _in_ the stew." Sam's look of horrified consternation was so classic little brother, Dean started to laugh, and that made Sam more horrified, which set him off again. Wiping at his streaming eyes, he choked out, "Rocky was a squirrel." Still laughing, "We were close, Sam. Close."

"Right."

"I guess he had a nest in the tree. Maybe… Could you…?"

"Go rescue a squirrel nest? No, Dean, I won't. Even if I could find it, the parents have certainly carried the babies to a new nest by now. Squirrels always do."

"Are you bullshitting me?"

"No." Sam blinked and looked down. Definitely bullshitting.

Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, I have a question for you, okay, and it's, it's embarrassing."

"Shoot."

"Why do I keep thinking about _Bambi_?"

Sam hesitated for a moment. "Because you're insane?"

"Real funny, Poindexter."

Sam dropped his head a little, frowning. "It was worse than I thought under that tree, wasn't it?"

"I guess." Taking a breath, Dean pulled up a smile. "I can't remember shit about what happened and now I can't get that stupid deer out of my head."

Sam shook his head slowly, smiling. "I might have the cure for that. Did you ever see _Bambi versus Godzilla_?" Sam pulled up his laptop and flipped it open. "One of my favorites."

Dean choked a little bit. "Bambi and _Godzilla_? This day is looking better and better."

* * *

><p>Thank you for reading. I hope you'll review.<p> 


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